“Get your fucking hands off me!” Her voice reverberated against the vaulted ceiling with such magnitude, the entire palace was now likely aware of the disturbance taking place in the grand entryway.
Startled by her volume, the guard’s crushing grip lessened on Daana’s elbow just the slightest. She ripped her arm free and staggered several steps backwards. The worn tread of her boots slid on the slick gold and white marble tile as she put space between her and the palace guard, ensuring she had adequate room to dodge in the event he tried to grab her a second time. She supposed she could kick him between the legs as she had done to the uniformed officer who intercepted her on the steps, but that would only add to her growing troubles.
The palace guard overcame his momentary shock and, with a firmly set jaw, moved towards her again. His right hand shot out to grab her, but Daana ducked out of his range at the last moment. “I already told you,” he snarled. “No one enters the palace without an appointment. Either you leave now, willingly, or you shall do so under arrest.”
“For the last damn time, I don’t need an appointment because I live here! I am Daana Lazuli.”
“That joke gets less funny every time you tell it.”
She caught a glimpse of her grimy reflection in one of the gold plated mirrors mounted to the wall. At the very least, the guard’s reaction was understandable. Daana looked more like a street urchin than she did the proud member of a noble house. She wasn’t even going to address the fact that if it weren’t for the dress, it would have been next to impossible to tell she was a lady.
“Alright, I admit this looks bad,” she said, steadily backing away, keeping an ever watchful eye on the second palace guard who was slinking up along the hallway from behind. The grand entryway staircase was only ten yards to her left. With a little skill and a heapful of luck, there was a chance she could reach it before either of them nabbed her. “I only jumped the fence because the sentries at the gate wouldn’t let me in. And yes, I might have kicked the guard that intercepted me on the steps…several times, but he was being unnecessarily rough. If you would just fetch my uncle, Geralt Lazuli, Speaker of the People, he could clear up this little misunderstanding right away.”
The guard from behind rushed forward without warning, the heels of their boots clacking thunderously against the tile. Daana attempted to dodge the approaching guard and subsequently flubbed the footing. While her coordination was subpar, her timing was not. She managed to throw her momentum into a roll and sprang into a low crouch, saving her face from an unpleasant encounter with the floor.
With a horrendous squeak, she slid across the freshly waxed marble until she came to a stop several feet from the bottom of the staircase. The fact that she was facing the wrong way did little to dampen her astonishment. Damn, she thought, whipping around in order to face the oncoming enemy. I bet that looked impressive. Now why couldn’t I have done that when one of the others was watching?
Not the guards, obviously. The pair had witnessed her unexpected feat of agility and were steadily advancing with more caution than before. They even had short swords drawn. She didn’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted by that.
“What is the meaning of this?” A harsh voice rang out from above.
Even after months away, Daana still flinched at the familiar tone. The guards appeared to be undergoing a similar reaction as the pair halted in their tracks, allowing Daana a brief second to glance over her shoulder. An elf with light brown skin and tightly braided hair stood at the top step. The hem of his long, black robes pooled at his feet. His eyes were ice gray, like frost-coated silver.
The elf’s gaze settled on Daana and his lower lip fell open with a slight tremble. “Daana?”
She thought she’d been prepared for this moment, but dread fluttered like an injured butterfly in the pit of her stomach regardless. On cue, a tight smile pulled mechanically across her lips. Daana threw out her hands to welcome him, nearly choking on the word as it squeaked free from her dry throat. “Uncle!”
An amalgamation of various emotions flickered across his sharp features, none of which Daana could identify with any certainty. Her unannounced arrival must have come as a surprise even to him because, for the first time in her life, uncle appeared to be at a loss for words.
“How?” he managed, finally.
She swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to open her mouth and let it all come pouring out in a desperate bid to win his approval. That was Old Daana’s method. The months away had changed her. In order to survive, she’d learned to emulate those capable of navigating the harsh realities of life. Do as Oralia does, she reminded herself. Keep everything in. Let nothing out.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“I will explain everything, I assure you.” Daana tilted her head at the soldiers who still had their weapons drawn. Thankfully uncle’s presence appeared to be keeping them at bay for the moment. “Do you think you could do something about my present situation first, though? This is, after all, a heartfelt reunion and not an interrogation. I’ll pretend not to be offended that your muscle didn’t recognize me.”
“I will take it from here, thank you.” Uncle Geralt dismissed the palace guards with a wave of his hand as he skirted down the stairs, his dark robe billowing majestically in his wake. Somehow uncle managed to make even a rushed decent look regal. He reached the bottom of the staircase and pulled her into his arms.
Her heartbeat doubled as she stood frozen, unsure of whether to pull away or give in. Uncle had never been the affectionate type. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged her. Was this proof that she’d misjudged the situation? That maybe things between them weren’t as horrible as she’d been led to believe?
The embrace was as awkward as it was short lived. Geralt pulled swiftly away, the edges of his sharp nostrils wrinkling in disgust. “Why do you smell like a dung heap? Dear girl, in all of this time away, tell me you haven’t forgotten how to bathe.”
Ah, there it was. Cruel reality right on schedule.
“This may come as a surprise, but there weren’t many opportunities to freshen up whilst trekking through lawless territory on my own, uncle,” she replied in an overly chipper tone. The filth was an added layer of protection as well. Overeager soldiers and suspicious townsfolk would have noticed the highborn elf passing through, but no one batted an eye at another bedraggled traveler. With war waging across the territories, displaced refugees had been turning up in the capital in record numbers. No one had noticed the stowaway that slipped through the gates amongst them.
“Yes, of course.” Unless he was weaponizing the impact of uninterrupted eye contact to make a point, Uncle Geralt’s gaze never lingered in the same place for long. His stare lifted from Daana as he spoke, sweeping the area around them. “I want to hear all about it. But perhaps somewhere private. Come.”
He led her into the stateroom, pausing at the doorway to speak with a passing servant. Daana drifted into the room ahead of him. The blue and gold stateroom stretched around her in a glimmering display of bloated opulence. Three of the four pastel blue walls sported spiraling columns of gold and ivory. The spaces between the columns were lined with tufted chairs and lounges, above which hung giant, tastefully boring paintings all depicting variations of the same floral garden. The fourth wall proudly displayed a gilded hearth nearly the size of a small storehouse, fashioned to look like the mouth of a snarling dragon. The polished marble flooring was obscured from sight by the plush blue rug that sank nearly half an inch under her weight. Overhead, three crystal chandeliers showered the stateroom in pale, flickering light.
Amongst the lavish furnishings the only detail out of place, regretfully, appeared to be her.
Daana shifted nervously, clasping her hands in front of her in order to avoid adjusting her poorly fitted dress for the umpteenth time. The garment had been nabbed from an unattended clothes line several town’s over. Despite her best efforts to adjust the fit to conform to her body, the waist still cut uncomfortably deep into her stomach. No matter how she tried, her gaze kept wandering back to the pedestals that lined either side of the hearth with various shiny treasures.
The doors closed behind her softly, disrupting Daana’s internal debate over which valuable would fetch the best price on the street.
“I have food on its way.” Geralt imparted one of his tight-lipped smiles. The kind that never seemed to reach his eyes. “In the meantime, I want to know everything. Starting with how it is you got here?”
She knew it wasn’t the answer he sought, but gave it anyway. “Walked mostly.”
“Yes, but how? According to my best sources, your last known whereabouts were in Adderwood. You were being kept as a hostage by the enemy. I have the ransom notes to prove it. How did you manage to escape and make your way all the way here without anyone knowing?”
While uncle had used the word ‘anyone’, he actually meant ‘me’. All her life, he had insisted that information was the greatest power and wielded it with far more accuracy than any weapon. The fact that Daana had managed to break out on her own without his notice was probably eating away at him from the inside. “Oh, so you did receive the ransom notes.” Daana couldn’t deny the sting of disappointment that pulled tight at her throat. It was one thing to be ignorant of your niece being held captive. But to know and purposely do nothing? Rat bastard. “Didn’t ever get around to paying them, I guess. You did read the part where my captors threatened to start cutting off my fingers, right?”
His mouth parted, horrified, but Daana didn’t give him the opportunity to explain himself. She laughed it off with a playful shove instead, sending him stumbling several steps backwards. The ever-poised Geralt Lazuli managed to maintain both his composure and balance.
A pity. Perhaps she’d give it another try near the top of the stairs.
“I’m kidding, uncle! Although I suppose it’s good I took care of things when I got the chance.” She lifted her hands, wiggling her fingers at him. “Else I might be short a few of these.”
“Daana…” His frosted gray eyes were focused on her arm and not her words. Uncle Geralt reached out and grasped her wrist, gently pushing back her sleeve in order to get a better view of the black, branching veins that snaked up the inside of her forearm. “What happened?”
Oh yeah. That.
Daana had run this same conversation through her head so many times, she was certain that she’d covered all her bases. And yet, somehow the explanation for the dark magic writhing beneath her skin had slipped her mind completely. If she was being honest with herself, it was because it scared her to think about.
Honesty, however, was the last thing on her mind and Daana offered Uncle Geralt a nervous smile instead. “Did you say there was food coming? Because I don’t know about you, but I could really go for a strong cup of tea about now.”
And a few shots of gin for added measure. Or a bottle. Maybe a case.